Erle Gardner - Case of the Beautiful Beggar

“Oh, oh!” Drake said.

They waited for some four or five minutes, and then the elevator stopped again at the seventh floor. The doors slid back, and Della Street nodded her thanks to the operator and started walking rapidly toward them.

“Do any good?” Mason asked.

By way of answer, Della Street exhibited the key with the metallic oval tag fastened to it by a ring.

She fitted the key in the door.

“Better let me do this,” Mason said, stepping forward. “If the door is bolted from the inside, it means we’ve got a major problem. If it isn’t bolted, I’m her attorney and I’d better be the one that opens the door.”

The key clicked back the latch. Mason tentatively tried the door, turned the knob, pushed against the door, then put his shoulder against it.

Mason turned to the others.

“That does it,” he said. “It’s bolted from the inside.”

“That means she’s in there?”

The lawyer nodded.

Drake said, “Let’s get the house detective.”

“We’ll try one more time,” Mason said.

This time his knuckles pounded a double tattoo on the panels of the door.

“All right,” Mason said, “we’ve got to get the detective and force the door. We...”

The lawyer broke off as there was the sound of a bolt being moved on the inside of the door.

The bolt on the inside of the door slid all the way back, and the door opened.

Daphne Shelby in a sheer nightgown stood sleepily regarding them.

“What... I’m dizzy... Help... She collapsed to the floor.

Della Street ran to her side.

Mason said, “There’s a house physician here. Let’s get him. But first, keep her from going to sleep. Paul, get some cold compresses. Put them on her head and neck.”

Drake said, “Okay, let’s lift her back into bed and—”

“Not bed,” Mason said. “That’s the worst place for her if she’s been drugged. Keep her walking. I’ll take one side, Della can take the other. Keep her moving. Get some cold towels.”

“I’ll get a wrap of some sort,” Della said

She hurried to the closet, came out with a wrap, and the three of them managed to get the garment around the girl. Then Mason and Della started her walking. Drake hurried into the bathroom.

Daphne took one or two steps, then suddenly slumped, moaned and said, “Oh, I’m so sleepy... so, so... so sleepy.”

Drake came hurrying out of the bathroom with a cold towel. He put it on Daphne’s neck, then on her head. “Come on. Daphne,” he said, “keep walking.”

Mason said, “What happened. Daphne?”

“I think I’m poisoned,” she said sleepily.

“I know. What makes you think you’re poisoned?”

“I stopped at the lunch counter. I had some chocolate. That was all I wanted, just a big pot of hot chocolate and some toast. I was so tired. I’d been up all night.”

“I know,” Mason said, “go on.”

“The chocolate tasted funny,” she said, and then added, “I had gone to the telephone and left it there for a minute. I asked the waitress not to take it away. There was a funny-looking woman sitting next to the end...” Abruptly Daphne ceased talking and became a dead weight.

Mason and Della Street got her to her feet. Drake appeared with another cold towel. Mason said, “Get on the phone, Paul. Get the house doctor up here on the double. Tell him we have a sleeping pill case.”

Mason pulled back the robe, shoved the cold towel down Daphne’s spine.

“Ooooh,” she exclaimed, giving a little jump. “That’s cold.”

“It’ll do you good,” Mason said. “Keep walking.”

“I... can’t... walk... I want to lie down and go... sleep.”

“Keep walking,” Mason said. “Keep walking.”

Drake turned from the telephone. “A doctor will be on his way up here inside of a few seconds.”

Mason nodded to Della Street. “Get Room Service Della, tell them to send up two pots of strong black coffee.”

“Please let me... go...” Daphne said.

“Keep the towels coming, Paul,” Mason ordered.

“No, no,” she protested listlessly, “I’m sopping wet!”

Mason said, “You’ll be wet when we get done here... Paul, fill the bathtub full of water that’s just a little bit warmer than lukewarm. Della Street can see that she gets a tepid bath — just enough to give her a little stimulation and keep her from getting chilled. We want it just a few degrees warmer than body temperature.”

Drake handed Mason two more cold towels, said, “I wish I had four hands.”

Mason kept Daphne walking. Della Street ordered black coffee. From the bathroom was the sound of running water.

Daphne sighed. Her head fell over on Mason’s shoulder and again she slumped.

The lawyer elevated her to her feet.

“Walk,” Mason said, “walk, Daphne. You’ve got to help. You’ve got to walk. I can’t just carry you by your arms. Walk!”

“I can’t feel the floor,” she said. “My feet aren’t touching anything.”

“Do you think the woman sitting next to you put something in your chocolate?”

“It tasted funny, sort of bitter, but I put more sugar in it.”

“Can you describe her? Do you know what she looked like?” Mason asked.

“No... I can’t concentrate... I’m sorry to let you down like this, Mr. Mason.”

Again her legs seemed to buckle. Mason and Della lifted the dead weight.

Mason pulled back his left hand, and with the palm gave Daphne’s rump a sharp slap.

Her back arched as she jerked her hips out of the way.

“Don’t you ever do that again!” she blazed, and then suddenly moaned and again collapsed.

This time neither the lawyer nor Della Street could get her to make any effort to stand on her feet. She simply remained a dead weight.

Mason stood looking down at her with thought-slitted eyes, then said to Della Street, “Let’s put her over on the bed.”

“But she’ll just go into unconsciousness,” Della Street said. “You told us that yourself, Perry.”

“I know,” Mason said. “Get her over on the bed.”

There was a knock at the door.

Drake opened it.

A professional-appearing man with a black medical bag said, “I’m Dr. Selkirk.”

Mason said, “This young woman seems to have been given an overdose of barbiturates.”

“All right,” Dr. Selkirk said, “we’ll pump her stomach out.”

“And let’s save what we get,” Mason said. “I’m interested.”

“Any container around here?” Dr. Selkirk asked.

Mason said, “There’s a water pitcher.”

“Well, that’ll do if we have to use it.”

Dr. Selkirk said, “We need some coffee.”

“It’s been ordered,” Mason said.

“And we’ll cover her up and keep her warm.”

The physician pumped out the contents of the stomach then listened with a stethoscope at the girl’s chest. He frowned, took her pulse, then went over the pitcher containing the contents of the stomach.

Mason stepped into the bathroom, said to Paul Drake, “Get that water just as ice cold as you can get it, Paul.”

“What?” Drake asked, incredulously.

“Just as cold as you can get it.”

Dr. Selkirk motioned to Perry Mason. “May I see you a minute?” he asked.

Mason moved over to him. Dr. Selkirk lowered his voice, glanced apprehensively over his shoulder to where Della Street was smoothing Daphne’s wet hair back from her forehead.

“There’s something funny about this,” Dr. Selkirk said. “Her pulse is strong and active, her respiration is normal and regular, but there are remains in the stomach contents that are pills, all right.”

“You mean the pills haven’t digested? Did she swallow them in the chocolate?” Mason asked.